crisp white uniform who had just come out on deck.
Alex was unpacking already when Elliott entered the little drawing room between their staterooms. Two steamer trunks stood open. Walter moved to and fro with armfuls of clothes.
"Well, this is pleasant, isn't it?" Elliott said, surveying the little couch and chairs, the tiny portal. There had not been much time to arrange for proper accommodations, but Edith had stepped in finally and seen to everything herself.
"You look tired, Father. Let me order you some tea."
The Earl eased himself into the little gilded fauteuil. Tea did sound rather nice. What was that fragrance? Were there flowers in this room? He saw none. Only the champagne in its glistening ice bucket and the glasses ready on the silver tray.
Then he remembered. The morning glory he had crushed into his pocket. It was still giving off a latent perfume.
"Yes, tea would be fine, Alex, but there's no hurry," he murmured. Reaching into his pocket, he found the mangled little blossom and drew it out and lifted it to his nose.
A very pretty scent indeed. And then he thought of that conservatory, overgrown fantastically with leaves and blossoms. He looked at the morning glory. As he watched, it straightened, the creases in its waxy petals disappearing. It opened completely and within seconds had become again a perfect bloom.
Alex was talking, but Elliott did not hear him. He merely looked stupidly at the flower. Then he crushed it again, tightly in the palm of his hand.
Slowly he looked up to see that Alex was just putting down the telephone.
"Tea in fifteen minutes," Alex said." What's the matter, Father? Father, you're white as a - "
"Nothing. No. It's nothing. I want to rest now. Call me when the tea comes."
He stood up, the flower clenched still in his fist.
When he had shut the door of his stateroom, he leaned against it, the sweat flooding down his back. He opened his hand. Again the blossom sprang back from a crushed and broken thing into a perfect flower, the blue-and-white petals lengthening before his eyes.
For an endless time, it seemed, he stared at it. The tiny bit of green leaf at its base curled as he watched. Then he realized he was looking at himself in the mirror. The grey-haired, partially crippled Earl of Rutherford, handsome still at fifty-five, though every step he took was an agony. He let go his walking stick, ignoring it as it fell, and with his left hand felt of his grey hair.
He could hear Alex calling him. The tea had already come. Carefully he took out his wallet. He crushed the flower again and slipped it into the leather folds. Then he bent over very slowly and picked up his cane.
In a daze, it seemed, he stared at his son, who poured the tea for him.
"You know, Father," Alex said," I'm beginning to think it's going to work out after all. I've had a good look at Ramsey. He's quite a handsome fellow, but he's too old for her, don't you think?"
Oh, but this was too much fun, this great floating iron palace with little shops on board, and a great banquet room and a dance floor where musicians would later play!
And his quarters, why, never as a King had he had such splendid quarters aboard a seagoing vessel. He was laughing almost foolishly as the stewards finished unpacking the very last of Lawrence Stratford's clothes.
Samir closed the door after they'd gone, then turned and drew out a great deal of paper money from his coat.
"This will take care of your wants for a long time, sire, only you must not show it all at one time."
"Yes, my loyal one. That was the common wisdom when I'd slip out of the palace as a boy." He gave another exuberant
laugh. He couldn't help himself. The ship even contained a library and a small cinema; and then all the marvels below deck. And the gentle, elegant members of the crew - all of whom had the manners of gentlemen - had told him he might move about as he wished.
"Your coin was worth a great deal more, sire, but I had little room to bargain."
"As they say in this day and age, Samir, don't give it another thought. And you are correct in your estimation of Lord Rutherford. He believes. In fact, I should say he knows."
"But it's Henry Stratford that presents the danger. Would a fall from the deck